Anywhere I Wander: Sins of the Father
by JRisner
Summary: This is a tale of the human condition. About the evolution of a man - and how the wasteland can tear asunder any and all trace of human decency. Albert "Thirteen" Harrison is such a man - a resident of Vault 101 who's world is about to be turned head over heels. This is a story of loss. How far can a man bend before he breaks?
1. Prologue: No One Ever Leaves

_**A couple things before we begin...first, my notes before and after the chapters (when I do them) for this story will not be in italics, as is customary with my stories...that's because I'm also going to be incorporating Three Dog into the story, and sections in italic will be dialogue from Three Dog.**_

_**My Fallout 3 story isn't going to be pretty. I'm_ making some significant deviations from the Fallout 3 story. I intend to flesh out some of the characters that are blank slates (the companions, for instance). I'm even making major players out of some NPC's that served little to no purpose (such as Sam Warrick, who's actually going to be one of the lead characters in the series). James (the Lone Wanderer's father) is also going to be heavily edited from his in game appearance. I'm sure by now you've all noticed that I like to dive into the psychology of the characters that I use. James makes a particularly interesting character because his child cost him the life of his wife. Further, the in game model of the Lone Wanderer's mother is significantly older than James. I'm going to be playing with that as well._**_

**_Where the 18 Karat Run series focuses primarily on the ethics of politics, war, and religion...Anywhere I Wander is going to focus on much darker subjects. Racism (or speciesism), murder, pedophilia, psychosis, abandonment, loss, and the lines where survival and cruelty blur. It's going to emphasize the many shades of grey that exist in the Fallout world. How what's right for one may not be right for another. And a major component of that story will be Thirteen's struggle with how the ethics he has been taught all his life don't apply on the outside._**

**_The story is going to be broken down into "books". Book I (Sins of the Father) will chronicle everything up until Project Purity. Book II (Southern Comforts) will chronicle Thirteen's venture into Point Lookout Maryland. I'm going to be making some deviations from the storyline that the DLC uses in order to focus more on the setting and some of the things that happen in Point Lookout and how that will affect Thirteen. Book III (Who Dares Wins) will focus on the Brotherhood and the Enclave. Book IV (Into the Pitt) will chronicle Thirteen's capture and enslavement and his time in the Pitt. The final book, Book V (Not Of This World) will focus on the final DLC for Fallout 3, Mothership Zeta. I'm going to tackle this in a very particular manner...though I do not wish to give it away at this point._**

**_Much like 18 Karat Run, I have an additional tale to tell. This will be in the same vein as Joshua Graham's origin story, The Prodigal Son. Book VI (Value in Veins) will explore the background of Sam Warrick._**

**_Now, the prologue to Anywhere I Wander Book I: Sins Of The Father_**

* * *

_Grab your hankies, boys and girls…cause Three Dog's got a gut-wrenching tale for you._

_A little tale about a kid from Vault 101…and his search for his daddy._

_More than that, really. This is a story about a man's evolution. About a kid with hopes and dreams and – dare I say – innocence. About how the Wastes can rip that apart…and about how one kid did everything in his power to stand up against it, and failed._

_It's a story about the lives he touched. The people he saved…and killed along the way._

_You all know of Vault 101, don't you? For those of you unfamiliar, North-West of Megaton, there's a vault. And that vault, boys and girls, is still operational._

_If you don't know about these vaults – you need to crawl out of that cave you've been hiding in. Two hundred years ago – after millennia of armed conflict – mankind bit the bullet. Fire rained from the heavens and the world was plunged into an abyss of nuclear radiation._

_But this wasn't the end…no no. People are like radroaches, children. We hold on…we persevere. So this wasn't the end of the world…it was just the prologue of another bloody chapter of human history._

_How'd we survive? Well…different ways. But thousands of us were spared the horrors of the holocaust by taking refuge in enormous underground shelters. Vaults, kids. Havens built by Vault-Tec to secure the future. Or so they'd have you believe. _

_Vault 101 was different though…while the rest of the vaults released their, ah…inhabitants into this hellish wasteland…101 slid closed and, if you believe the stories, never reopened._

_Of course, we all know that to be bullshit. 'Cause there are most definitely still people in that hole in the ground, and every now and then, one comes scrabblin' out._

_One of those was this kid._

_It's always a sad day when a hero falls in battle…the greater the hero, the deeper the grief. But what about a hero that loses to himself? _

_Good kid goes bad…it's the story of the Wasteland, right? Still. It's a sad day for us all._

_See, that kid had me fooled…had everyone of us fooled. We pegged him as one of the good guys. Fool me once, shame on me…fool me twice…_

_And fuck you, kid. If you're out there listening._

_I'm getting ahead of myself though – right kiddos?_

_See this isn't just a story about that kid. It's a story about human nature. And it starts a long time ago. Before the Great War even._

_War…now that's a scary subject._

_You see, kids. Since the dawn of human kind…when our ancestors discovered the killing power of rock and bone…blood of our fellow man has been spilled._

_In the name of God…_

_Military campaigns and crusades launched by the Roman Catholic Church during the Middle Ages – sanctioned by the Pope, himself – saw the massacre and murder of millions. The French Wars of Religion saw between two and four million people killed between the two opposing sides._

_I can't make this shit up._

_In the name of justice and freedom._

_Civil wars fought by countries all over the world…this often masked the true intention of the wars people fought in their name. Bounties, spoils, and wealth are to be had…and when there are people in power, they are always willing to sacrifice numbers untold._

_In the name of perfection._

_You kids ever hear of a guy named Adolph Hitler? A mean motherfucker with a funny little caterpillar perched on his upper lip. This guy had people killed by the millions. _

_And, at times, for the sake of simple, psychotic rage._

_I guess that's where 101 comes in._

_See, this kid was born to a hip cat by the name of James. And his mama…she was an angel if one ever graced the Wastes._

_You know what she wanted? "The waters of life. Free and clean, for any and all."_

_That's a vision shared by her husband…and by her kid. At least, at first._

_But that's the thing about the Wasteland, kids. It'll change you, if you let it. Children, pray for the soul of the Lone Wanderer._

_And pray for the rest of us too, while you're at it._

'_Cause something in him changed. War does that…it changes you. The kick of it all? It never changes itself.  
_

* * *

"It's a boy," Doctor Li announced.

A brief memory flashed before James Harrison's eyes.

And in that moment he was sitting his bed five months prior – his beautiful wife, Catherine – the love of his life – laying next to him. Her hand holding his own – pressing it against her stomach.

"It's a boy," she told him.

"Yeah?"

Two hundred-fifty years ago, it would have been a guess. She was only just beginning her second month of pregnancy – not far enough along that the doctors could have determined their child's gender.

But times change. Following the second world war, technology began to advance exponentially. By the year 2050, they could easily tell the child's gender within two months of the child's conception. Hell, they could control it.

That was a different world – a different time. Echoes of a broken past that the residents of Washington D.C. only spoke about in hushed tones. Something so fragile that it felt as if it might break away if spoken in anything but – as if it might slip away in the winds, crumbling like the sands of time around it.

She sighed – her silvering hair falling loosely to the bed. She leaned close, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You're sure you're okay with this?"

"What's there to be sure about?"

"Us. Our child…bringing him into this world."

_This_ _world_. He felt his stomach sink at the thought – a world wrought with perils of every shape and form.

"I am," he told her.

He wasn't. She knew he wasn't.

But that's what love is all about, isn't it? About making sacrifices? She wanted a baby…she wanted to watch him grow into a man. James knew he couldn't deny her that.

Now she lay, in agony, on this God forsaken table: IV's running into her arms – connecting her to machinery that he knew he couldn't rely on.

"It's a boy," he repeated – looking up at her.

"Let me hold him…"

James reached down, snipping the umbilical cord. Doctor Li gently cleaned the child – wrapping him in a light blue cloth – and passed him to his father.

In turn, James passed him on to his mother – her smile lit up the room.

"He looks just like you…" she choked out – stifling her tears with laughter. "What are we going to name him?"

James shrugged. He hadn't really thought about it. Not like she had. From day one…she had scrounged the depths of her mind and every great work of writing she could find. The Grapes of Wrath, To Kill a Mocking Bird, Frankenstein, The Great Gatsby, the Holy Bible…the list poured on and on.

James had been busy fixing the equipment around the memorial. Tidying up their living quarters…scavenging the Capital Wasteland. Looking for any sort of materials, supplies, or items they could use.

He had been busy monitoring the child's in-utero development…looking for any signs of distress, mutation, or danger.

He didn't have the heart to tell his wife about their son's condition.

_His affliction_.

One that would leave him on medication for the rest of his life.

"Whatever you want to name him…" he told her, brushing the dark hair from her face.

She smiled up at him.

"I think…"

She paused. A long pause – looking down at her child.

"You think?" With a smile, James tilted his head. He looked at her – her facial expression blank. Her pupils dilated – her hands gripping the child tightly, squeezing him hard with her hands. The infant began to cry.

James snatched the crying child from her grip – his fatherly instincts taking control – quickly handing him off to a nearby assistant. "Catherine!"

On the bed, Catherine began to convulse.

"Catherine! Catherine stay with me! Li!"

"Her BP's dropping – heart rate failing! She's going into cardiac arrest!"

The machines around them began to beep and buzz frantically. James could feel his stomach twisting into knots as he struggled to remain focused.

"Get him out of here!" Li commanded.

"No! I can help!"

"James…"

"Get him out! Now!"

"…take care of our boy…" Catherine managed to choke out – it was barely a whimper.

"Catherine!"

The assistant grasped his shoulder tightly – pulling him from the room. When she had pulled him clear, she slammed the door tightly. James was instantly against it, pounding his fists against the cold steel.

"James…" the woman's voice was calm, masking her concern.

He ignored her, he continued pounding the door. Every other breath screaming out the name of his beloved.

The child was crying – its crying drowned out by the screams of its father.

"James!"

His body was trembling.

"There's nothing you can do!"

His knuckles were bleeding.

She reached out, once more – grasping his shoulder. She wheeled him around. "There's nothing you can do!"

His hand fumbled with his belt – he drew his pistol, a rusted black 10mm.

So did the assistant. She stood quietly – her eyes locked coldly on his own.

"Don't do anything you're going to regret…" She warned him. "He's going to need you."

James let his eyes fall on to the child.

His bright pink skin a stark comparison to the monotonous world around them.

"Cross…I…I…"

"Everything is going to be alright," The woman told him.

_Everything's going to be alright_.

The first of many lies in this child's life.

* * *

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

James looked up at the woman before him. "Madison…you know I can't stay here."

"But…what about our research? What about Project Purity? All the work we've done!"

James could hear the sting in her voice – the betrayal. She all but said it…

_What about us_?

He hadn't meant for it to happen…but, when the age difference was as wide as the one between he and his wife…

Sometimes…

Doctor Madison Li was closer to his age…in her early twenties when she met him. A colleague and friend throughout his years of study.

Catherine was…well, she was a bit older.

It was their love of science that brought them together – but it was their love of each other that kept them that way.

She was his tutor – his mentor. In her twenties when they first met.

James, born January 7th, 2226, had grown up in a vault not far outside of the DC ruins – Vault 101.

The Vault lived under a cold motto – one that James was never quite certain he could agree with. _We were born in the vault, we live in the vault, and we die in the vault_.

In November of 2230 a new Overseer took the helm. A man by the name of Albert Delorane – proud and audacious. Delorane was in favor of outside contact – as such, he began to systematically dismantle the founding principles of Vault 101. Not everyone was pleased with this – particularly the Almodovar family, who strongly upheld the ideals held by the Vault's founders.

James had always been a man who lived for his studies. Early on, his father told him that he'd be the vault's instructor one day – that the youth of future generations would be guided by his very hands. He suggested – in this light – that the current instructor take James as her apprentice. The then twenty-four year old Catherine was none too pleased about the prospect of taking the ten year old boy under her wing. It was far too early to be training a replacement in her eyes. But she grew fond of the boy.

And in time, a little too close.

He was thirteen when he opened up about his feelings to her, something she was not very keen on. But by the time he was fifteen, they had developed romantic attachment.

Of course, such a relationship was taboo for many reasons. She was fourteen years his senior – and, more than that, she was his teacher. His mentor.

Still, the heart wants what it wants.

Knowing that they could never truly embrace their love of one another within the vault without rousing the ire and contempt of their fellow vault dwellers, James made a resolution.

As long as the overseer was promoting outside contact and sending out expeditions – why shouldn't he join them?

After all, James was at the top of his class. At fifteen, he knew more about thermonuclear physics, medical treatment, and computer science than any of his fellow students.

Though his father was not thrilled – Delorane was overjoyed to have such a promising pupil on board. If he could rile the future leaders of the vault behind him, he knew he could accomplish much.

Of course – if he were to leave the vault, he would need supervision. And that's where Catherine came in.

So, on January 10th, 2241 – shortly after his fifteenth birthday – James and Catherine set out into the wastes on what would become one of the last expeditions that Vault 101 would ever launch.

The team first ventured to Megaton – a city built in the crater left in the aftermath of the Great War. Megaton was an impressive structure from the outside looking in. The town was undergoing a renovation of sorts – massive steel walls were being erected around it. Walls that would eventually tower above near everything else in the Wastes.

But looks are often deceiving, and in time James saw Megaton for what it really was. A refuge for wastelanders struggling to survive – built on the backs of broken men and women, to protect themselves from the cruel outside world.

It was bleak, barren, and barely fit for survival…living in the hollow remains of aircrafts wired and boarded together with a pathetic irrigation system running irradiated water between them.

At the town's center was a behemoth of a weapon – an undetonated thermonuclear device.

Many of the townspeople worshiped it. Those that didn't tended to stay in their homes.

Or in the local pub – owned by a kid named Colin Moriarty. At fourteen, Moriarty had inherited his father's wealth, his pub, and his power. His father had died in a raid not two weeks prior to the "vault dwellers" – as the group was called – arrival. When Moriarty had inherited his wealth – he immediately called for and funded the construction of the massive barricade that stands today. Whether or not Moriarty had the wall built to protect the people of Megaton, his own saloon, or to pave his way into political power remains debatable.

But, though that wall was protecting them from the outside in…the real problem was what was already inside. James was certain of two things at that time – one, it was only a matter of time before that bomb in the center of town detonated. And two – he didn't want to be here when it did.

But they couldn't very well live in the wastes – in his short time on the outside, James had heard some horror stories. Not everyone in the Capital Wasteland was civil…in fact, few were. Stories of raiders and slavers spread like wildfire – cruel men and women who'd kill at the drop of a hat.

There were many horror stories…then, there was Rivet City.

Rivet City was a bastion of hope in the wasteland – an urban sprawl built in the beached carcass of an old world air craft carrier just south of D.C.

In its early days, the carrier had been inhabited by a group of raiders…but that wasn't the problem. The real problem was underneath the carrier. Its sublevels were infested by large creatures the locals called mirelurks.

Out in the wastes, one would hope to run into a group of mirelurks over a group of raiders any day of the week…but that's because one could escape a group of mirelurks. These large crab-like creatures were slow on their feet. So long as they didn't catch you off guard, escape was easy enough…mostly because mirelurks don't carry guns.

The issue was…outside you could run. If the carrier was to become the fortified sanctuary it was envisioned to be – the thick shelled creatures would have to be cleared out. This was no easy task…as the sublevels were mostly flooded. While outrunning the beasts on land was simple enough, out-swimming them was quite a different matter. To make things worse, penetrating their shells was just shy of impossible without damn heavy firepower. So you had to get close…aim for the face.

It was no simple task, and more than a few good men and women died. But on April 25th, 2239 – Rivet City was born – complete with a market, American History Museum, a church, clinic, bar, hotel…and, perhaps most importantly, a hydroponics bay.

The thriving scientific community drew James and Catherine to Rivet City. So, it came as no surprise that a mere couple of weeks after their arrival at Megaton, James and Catherine jumped ship – so to speak. A group of ironclad men had sent a patrol out into the wastes, lead by a woman named Cross. When James spoke to her about Rivet City, she offered them safe passage through the wastes…something James couldn't pass up.

It was in Rivet City that James and Catherine's relationship was finally able to blossom. James continued his studies – working with Catherine and another man, one of the most brilliant men he would ever meet, by the name of Horace Pinkerton. James and Catherine would work with Pinkerton and his group of scientists on water and food purification. By 2250, they had made large strides to supplying the wasteland with radiation-free food.

Three years later – at eighteen and thirty-two respectively – James and Catherine married.

Years would pass and James rarely gave the vault a second thought.

It was in 2255 that James met her – Madison Li. Madison was a scribe in what was known as the Brotherhood of Steel; the same group that escorted James and Catherine, giving them safe passage through the wasteland. At twenty-six, three years his junior, Madison could keep up with James in even the most difficult mathematical equations.

The Brotherhood sect was led by a man named Owyn Lyons. Lyons had seen the disparaging state the Capital Wasteland was in and wished to help. Madison Li came to Rivet City vibrant and full of life. She had high hopes for the hydroponics bay and wanted to see the progress that had been made with purification. But her aspirations were much larger – what the scientists at Rivet City did on small scale, she wanted to do for the tidal basin.

This was something that Catherine had also long desired. So – with the help of Madison Li and the Brotherhood, Project Purity was born.

With Elder Lyons came another prospect – one that James hadn't considered.

At this point, Catherine was well on in her years – at forty-three, her hair starting to grey, she began to feel concerned about her legacy. She had considered having a child, but it was always something that James seemed so intolerant of. The idea of bringing a child into the world as it was disgusted him. On more than one occasion, he had made remarks of his disdain of the idea. After some deliberation, they – and by that, one should read "he" – decided that having a child was a bad idea. So, eventually, she dropped the subject.

But – seeing the four year old Sarah Lyons, daughter of Elder Lyons, with her innocent smile and golden locks – she began to dream of the prospect again.

This change in her didn't go unnoticed. James was very adept at reading his wife. As he and Madison became friendlier – she began to withdraw more and more into her studies.

So, after more drinks than he cared to admit – he reluctantly agreed to try.

At first, it seemed like a pointless endeavor; no matter how hard they tried. Catherine was sure that she had become barren…while James was convinced that it was the work of a higher power.

It was in the winter of 2257, after a few shots of the finest scotch he could find, that they would find success.

Catherine was pregnant.

At this, Madison began to distance herself – out of professional respect, she claimed, for James and Catherine. But James knew the sentiment to be untrue.

On July 13th, 2258, two months prematurely, Catherine began to have contractions.

And now, looking at the abomination that took the life of its mother, James felt nothing but contempt.

"…I understand," Madison lied. "You need to take care of your son."

_I need to?_ _A dying mother's wishes…_

Madison looked at the child with hope – despite her resentment – cradled in his father's hands. Oblivious to the carnage that he had caused – he smiled widely.

James, on the other hand, looked at the child with a bleak eyed emptiness. Apathy coursing through his veins.

"Where are you going to go?"

_The wasteland is no place for a child_, his mind kept telling him. "Home…"

"Back to Rivet City?"

She almost sounded hopeful.

"Back to the Vault."

"Oh…" she swallowed, her voice cracking a bit.

"Are you going to continue our research?"

Madison shrugged lightheartedly. "As long as they'll let me…"

"And if the Brotherhood leaves? You'll be going with them, I imagine."

"No…Rivet City is my home now."

James smiled. "Maybe I'll see you again one day…"

"Maybe…" Madison's voice was heavy. Her throat hurt and she fought back tears…she had never been good at goodbyes. "Have you…have you thought about a name?" She asked quickly, changing the subject.

Only one name came to mind. The name of the man who made his life with Catherine possible…however short his time with her might have been. "Albert…"

"Albert…" Madison sneered at the name. "Albert? Really?"

_Little Albert_, James thought, _born on the thirteenth…a testament to the luck he brought to this world._

"Albert 'Thirteen' Harrison."

* * *

The journey back to Vault 101 wasn't easy – it hadn't been easy to make when it had been James, Catherine, and a handful of Brotherhood paladins…and it was that much harder with James and a screaming baby boy.

_Babies are noisy…needy…_

James shook his head, he had to purge himself of such thoughts. Catherine wouldn't want it this way.

At least Star Paladin Cross had agreed to escort him back to the vault…even if it was by herself.

The wasteland was wrought with dangers…there were the raiders and mirelurks, to be sure. But there were other dangers. Scorpions the size of small vehicles. Rodents as big as dogs…and then, there were the packs of rabid dogs.

But that was the least of his concern.

What he was really concerned about were the mutated abominations…prowling every inch of the wastes. Beasts large enough to crush a man's skull with one hand.

And then there were _other things_. Stuff nightmares were made of…razor sharp claws, jaws that could crush bone like candy.

The sun had just begun to set when they saw him.

In the distance, pacing towards them without a worry in the world.

If he noticed them, he didn't seem to care…and he didn't seem too concerned with being noticed himself.

"Get down…keep the boy quiet," Cross commanded.

So James did. He ducked into a nearby vehicle.

The kid was crying.

"Shhh…" He conjured up his most comforting voice. "Daddy's got you…there, there now…shhh."

He reached into the breast pocket of his lab coat and retrieved a small trinket…a limited edition bobble head produced by Vault-Tec hundreds of years ago.

"Look…look…" He tapped the toy's head and it gleefully bounced. The baby hushed up a moment, watching the toy.

"Yeah…neat huh?"

The creature was nearly upon them now – its yellow-green skin reflecting the moonlight.

Cross had climbed into the ruins of a nearby building – she aimed at the creature as it approached them, but did not fire.

She couldn't risk attracting the attention of its brethren.

It paced by the vehicle without giving it a second glance…they were in the clear.

Then, crying.

"No, no, no, no, no…shhh…"

"What's that?" The Goliath stopped. "Why…I haven't heard that sound…could it truly be?" It turned its fowl head towards the vehicle. "Please…" it entreated. "Come out, so that I may have a look at you."

No answer…but the child continued crying.

"You…" the creature struggled to find the words it was looking for. "You…have my word that no harm will come to you."

Cross edged from the building…she grew closer, as quietly as she could.

The creature turned to look at her – its plastic eyes locking on her.

"You haven't shot me yet…that's different…" he told her. "Most of your kind greet me with bullets…or else leave me alone entirely. Are you…" he paused. "Are you afraid of me?"

Cross didn't answer. She gripped the stock of her rifle tightly.

"Ah…I see…I understand your fear. I know…" his voice was raspy. At times it would increase in pitch and other times it sounded almost like gravel grinding together under foot. "…I am little more than a monstrosity. Fit to be hunted and slain…and nothing more. My brothers are savage killers…but…I try to think that I am different from them. Perhaps I am only fooling myself."

Cross remained silent – her rifle leveled on the creature's skull.

"Wait…" James raised from the vehicle, his curiosity getting the better of him – his child in hand. He silently beckoned Cross to lower the rifle. "You haven't attacked us…that speaks volumes."

"I sometimes fear I cannot escape my nature…" the creature took a breath.

"Perhaps that isn't your nature…" James pondered aloud, more to himself. "Aristotle…I don't imagine you know who that is…long ago a great philosopher insisted that a just man is produced by just acts."

The supermutant let out a low, guttural laugh. "And a temperate man through temperate acts."

A little surprised, James pulled his head back.

This aroused more laughter from the mutant. "My name…is Uncle Leo. Who are you?"

"James…"

"And who is this," the creature gestured to the child.

"It's…this is my son. Thirteen."

Leo squinted his eyes. "A strange name, indeed…"

"Why do you call yourself Uncle Leo?"

"I haven't really thought about it…perhaps it is who I was before I became _this_. Perhaps I read it in a book somewhere…I cannot recall…if you don't mind my asking, where are you headed?"

The mutant could see in his eyes that James was hesitant to disclose their destination – and James could see that his own fear offended the mutant.

"Forgive me…you're the first person to really speak to me since my brethren cast me out. I forget myself, sometimes. I'm sorry to bother you…I am…I am glad you decided to speak with me, even though you didn't want to. I will be on my way now."

The mutant turned and began to trot off.

Cross edged closer, her eyes never leaving the mutant. "You made the right…"

_The right what?_ James would never know, as he interrupted her.

"Leo…wait a moment."

The mutant turned back to look at them.

"Please…join us."

If the mutant could smile, James was sure he would smile at that notion.

The mutant's company made the trip back a little less perilous. Raiders kept their distance – fearing what the mutant may do. Though, undoubtedly, curious as to why it walked alongside two "bleeders", as the mutants referred to humanity.

Uncle Leo spoke much of what he could remember. He had been banished for his ideas concerning peace by his _brothers_.

And James learned much from the mutant. He learned that supermutants were not born – rather, created in a _cold dark place_. Leo was unsure of where this was or how it was done. He knew only that it existed somewhere out in the wastes.

He learned that the mutants had their own theology – their own sort of God, which they referred to as "The Master".

And he learned that things are not always as they appear to be.

But as the miles rolled on, and the mutant began to pick up on a thing or two himself.

Perhaps it was his lack of social dexterity, or perhaps his mutation had warped the pre-frontal cortex of his brain and he had lost sense of impulse control or self-control.

Whatever the case – Leo spoke his mind quite freely.

"You do not care for the boy, do you?"

James was taken aback.

"I do not mean to offend…I just pay attention. You must forgive me, I am not used to civilized conversation."

"I…" James searched his mind for a response. The truth was, he didn't have one. "It's just…complicated."

The supermutant nodded – "Life tends to be that way…If I might offer some advice."

"By all means."

"There was a time that I, too, carried much weight on my shoulders. Anger about my past…fear about what would happen next. I found that, as time pressed on, that weight grew heavier and heavier. The more I tried to fight what was, the more I tried to deny the world…the harder it became to even take a single step. Perhaps I am just not as strong as some people, but I found that by letting go, accepting what is and taking things as they come – I was able to stand again. Look at this beautiful moon in the night sky. Every night it rises and every morning it sets. It is not concerned with who or what will be here to watch it rise tomorrow night. It would not notice if, tomorrow, we were gone. There is no point in such worrying – holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent to throw it at another. You may succeed in your quest…but it in the end, it is you that gets burned."

James remained quiet.

"Just a little food for thought…I do not mean to intrude, and you have been a good friend to have such patience with me. But, I fear, we have grown too close to our destination. The humans here are typically not very welcoming of my kind. I shall leave you in peace. Take care of yourself, my friend."

"You as well, Leo."

James watched the supermutant turn from them and tread off into the wastes.

He would never see Leo again…but he would think of him from time to time. About the beast that saw only beauty in this ravaged world.

They stayed the night in Megaton – in that a tiny hovel of a saloon. Moriarty had accomplished what he set out to do.

Megaton was safe from the outside world. Walls stretched around it – closing it off from the hellish Wasteland.

Still, it wasn't safe enough. James had to go back.

He had to take his son home.

Back to Vault 101.

Cross escorted him to the vault early the next morning. A lot had changed since his departure all those years ago. Albert Delorane had long since disappeared. Rumors of foul play were abound, but no one ever ventured further into those stories.

After Delorane's _retirement_, Alphonse Almodovar had seized control, becoming the new Overseer. Upholding the founder's policies – James was certain his son would never see the inside of Vault 101.

But fate had a different plan. The Overseer's wife had contracted an illness that the vault had never before seen.

Something that, in truth, James had never before seen either.

But Alphonse didn't know that.

All it took was a brief mention of his medical knowledge…and desperation paved the way back into Vault 101.

Where no one ever enters…

And _no one_ ever leaves.

* * *

_**That's it for the prologue. Please - read and review. I encourage feedback. Tell me what you hope to see from this story - because, as of now, it isn't as fleshed out as 18 Karat Run is. I still have plenty of wiggle room in its development.**_

_**Cheers.**_


	2. Chapter 1: Future Imperfect

_**So - I'm sorry that I disappeared. But believe me, it wasn't in the plan originally. Full disclosure, I was kind of involved with a married woman. She left her husband...things got heavy. She went back to him. Things got heavier. Yeah...but those games are done, so now I can get back to focusing on what matters. My readers (and my education, and my job, and my video games...she distracted me from a lot). It was fun though. Don't think I'm just a bad guy that runs around wrecking homes, though. She and I had a connection - and he'd been cheating on her for a long time. Good times, right?**_

**_Originally this chapter was supposed to cover everything up until they escaped the vault. But I split it into two chapters, because it was going to be close to ten thousand words otherwise. Which, I know - is fine for a lot of you. But I tend to try to stay between three and five thousand words. It makes it more convenient for me._**

_**Without further ado:**_

* * *

_That was the Ink Spots with, "Maybe"…_

_Welcome back boys and girls. _

_Three Dog here. Jockey of discs and teller of truths. Lord and master over the finest radio station to grace the Wastes, Galaxy News Radio._

_But you all know who I am. You've tuned back in to GNR to hear more of the story of the Lone Wanderer, haven't you?_

_Yeah, that's what I thought._

_Now…if you're just tuning in, you're probably wondering who the hell that is and why you should care. Well, for starters…it could save your life._

_It's important to know that the Lone Wanderer didn't start out that way. No, no. Quite the contrary boys and girls. That vault kid was the Wanderer first…traveling the wastes with his ragtag clan of do-gooders. Well..._

_Mostly. _

_But this world has a way of getting under your skin and wiping the smile from your face. Makes you bitter._

_Makes you lose sight of what you love. And what loves you._

_Now, Three Dog has seen it all, right? People killed for food; children wandering the wastes; slavers, supermutants, raiders, cannibals. Everyone wants a slice of pie…and they'll do whatever it takes to get it._

_The first time I saw the Wanderer…I could see in his eyes. Something behind his eyes. Something that screamed "I'm the one that can get shit done."_

_And believe you me, kiddos. That kid had a gift. A foresight. Something that kept him alive when the world around him fell apart._

_Maybe he was psychic. Maybe some higher power was looking over him. Maybe he was just smart. Or maybe it was just luck._

_But hey, hey. One thing at a time, right?_

_Where did we last leave off?_

_That's right. Vault 101. See James had just made his way back…and in a big way. The Overseer's wife had contracted…some virus. And this wasn't some garden variety case of radiation sickness. It was something worse…much worse._

_What it was, exactly…I don't know. I'm a disc jockey, not a doctor. But whatever it was, James promised to take care of old Alphonse's wife. And take care of her he did…for two years he kept her alive. But barely._

_Then, in the spring of 2060…disaster struck. And she couldn't hold on anymore._

_As you might imagine, Alphonse wasn't very pleased with this…James was treading on thin ice._

_So now you're wondering what happened right? Well you asked…and Three Dog shall provide._

* * *

James let out a heavy sigh. Two bottles sat on the bedside table at his side. One in a warmer the other on ice.

He looked at the bundle laid out on the bed before him. Kicking its legs and grinning widely.

Flailing its tiny arms…and at the ends of those tiny arms, tiny fists. Clenching and extending tiny fingers.

With a grimace, he folded and carefully molded the cloth to the creature's pelvis.

He was so tired of changing diapers. Tired of waking up at three a.m. to screaming.

This…_this thing_…

He didn't know what it wanted.

He didn't know why it screamed.

It was a goddamn guessing game…and he hated every minute of it.

He didn't want to be back in this god forsaken vault. He didn't want to be with these people…

What killed him most was that, now…amidst all the screaming and chaos…he could only think of _her_.

He loved Catherine. And he always would.

He missed her. He hated being in a place that reminded him of her. Walking down these narrow corridors and sitting in that disgusting mess hall. Watching the snot nosed brats of his fellow vault dwellers devour their sweets. The spoiled miscreants of condescending fathers and unconcerned mothers.

These people didn't know worry. They didn't understand loss or pain or hardship.

Being around them sickened him. And every last one of them reminded him of Catherine.

But that wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it? His mind wasn't on Catherine. It was on _her_. On Madison Li. He felt guilty…for a lot of reasons. _She_ should be the furthest thing from his mind right now. He _should_ be thinking of his son…of the promise he made to his wife.

Instead, he lifted the bottle from its warmer and tilted it up. He sprayed the liquid out on to his forearm; it was warm to the touch. Slightly warmer than body temperature…

_That'll do_.

Then he lifted the child and paced with zombie-like ambivalence across the room and sat the child in its playpen. "…I know you don't like it when I leave you alone. But just play in your pen. Daddy has to run to his office…I'll be back in a bit." He said the words with the most soothing voice he could conjure. Yet, they were hollow. Void of all traces of compassion, empathy, or understanding.

The child let out a soft coo. At barely a year, little Albert had already begun to walk. He seemed to look at his father with depth and understanding. Many times, James had caught his boy staring quietly into the pages of his book – a gift from Madison – _You're Special!_

It was almost frightening to see little Albert peering at those pages. Many times, it was as if he somehow had an unnatural understanding of its contents.

James wondered if it had to do with his condition…his _ailment_.

The readout had been clear. Technology could be a scary thing. It could read, very well, the genetic makeup of the zygote as it grew in Catherine's stomach. Long before the child would grow into a man, James knew how he would look. Knew how tall he would be. The machines, for what they were, were surprisingly accurate. They could predict hair color, eye color…and even more variable things, such as weight, and intelligence. More impressive, it could predict behavioral disorders based on genetic makeup.

Of course, these were only predictions. How the child would develop under _normal_ circumstances. Whatever those circumstances were.

In a world where food was limited, where stresses – internal and external – were abundant…the predictions couldn't be entirely accurate. How could they be? How could you proportionately gain weight if you were malnourished? Even if your body's genetic makeup allowed – or, even worse, was predisposed for it…if you didn't have the machines expected nutrient intake, you would end up smaller than it predicted. In both weight and height…although, given Albert would grow up in this vault instead of the outside world, James was fairly confident the machine had made the correct assumptions.

And…what that machine had predicted.

James cold see, watching his son, it wasn't incorrect. Something looked off…it felt off.

Albert was a quiet boy. He had given no effort towards speech. He would smile widely at anyone who wandered into his path. When the other vault dwellers would comment on how well behaved he was, James would smile and nod.

They didn't understand.

They would make jokes with Albert – they would play peek-a-boo and sing him songs. Especially that strange woman, Beatrice. She seemed to marvel at how "quickly he's grown!"

And, of course, Albert's wide, genuine smile would melt their hearts. But, if they'd paid attention…they'd have seen it. They would have known. Something was off. Something wasn't quite right. _He_ wasn't quite right.

He would smile, but he wouldn't laugh.

His eyes would tear up, but he would not cry. In fact, the only time he screamed was in the early mornings…when James wanted nothing more than to sleep in.

He would line his toys up in long, uniform lines. He rarely blinked. He rarely interacted with the other children in the vault…with one exception. The overseer's daughter, Amata. The two, from very early on, often seemed attached at the hip. Amata had not yet begun to walk, but she would crawl at Albert's feet as he stumbled from room to room with his awkward gait.

Looking down at the boy now, James felt somehow detached. So he turned and made for the door – stopping briefly at his bedside and lifting _the other_ bottle. As he walked across the cold, smooth surface of the vault floor – he glanced over his shoulder once. Albert was already toying with the gate's lock. It would only be a matter of time before he opened it.

But even if he did, he wouldn't be able to open the pneumatic steel door of their vault lodging. And he'd be safe enough in here.

Bottle in hand, James found his way down the hall; letting the hiss of the pneumatic door comfort him as it slid shut – sealing the source of all his grief behind it. He winded through the corridors, pausing leisurely every few steps to take a swig from the bottle in hand. By the time he found his office, the warmth of the alcohol had long settled in. The light above the door flickered, drawing his attention to it: Clinic. The sign pulsated and crooned – the electronic buzzing the only audible sound, save James' breathing. He lifted the bottle to his face again and tilted his head back…but nothing would come out.

_Empty_.

He peered into the bottle for a lingering moment – one eye pressed to its mouth. The room sign's tent changed from a fluorescent blue to a dull red.

"You're up late."

James turned from the bottle and looked in the direction of the voice.

That kid – Jonas. This kid that had been suggested by Alphonse…_to be his assistant. He didn't need an assistant._

_Excuse me_, James thought._ Suggested by his majesty, the Overseer_.

He felt a sudden burst of air attempt to escape his lungs – his chest convulsed, but no sound emerged.

"You feeling okay Dr. H?" Jonas asked, meekly.

A trail of vomit was his answer. The putrid liquid catapulted from the darkest innards of James's entrails – a seemingly endless bounty of stomach bile, partially digested food, and alcohol.

James took a step back – examining his masterpiece…then attempted to answer again. "I'm fi…" was all he was able to choke out before another eruption bellowed up from below.

_Christ_…Jonas thought. _This was the great man that the Overseer was so reliant on_. The one that had garnered so much praise. "Let's get you into the office, Dr. H." He cupped the small of James's back and pulled one arm over his shoulder. "I'll come back and get this cleaned up…before the Overseer sees it."

"Too late…" James laughed, pointing to a shadowy figure watching from the recesses of the dark hall.

Ahead of them, Jonas could just make out the figure standing in darkness – watching silently. The halls were once lit up twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. But Alphonse had decided to implement a curfew within the vault. "These damned lights drain too much power – use too many resources," he had complained.

Now the faint emergency lighting was the only thing between them and the radroaches. Vile creatures that thrived in darkness.

"James, we need to talk," Alphonse said flatly. "Jonas…get this…" he motioned to the pool of vomit across the vault floor. "…cleaned up."

Jonas escorted the two men into the clinic. He rummaged through one of the many medical cabinets along the wall and withdrew a small box of tablets – Fixer. He dropped the tablets into a small plastic cup and poured a glass of coffee. He passed the glass and the tablets to James – then placed his hands on either side of James's face. "This should take care of you, Doc."

He briefly turned to the Overseer – who's eyes said what his mouth did not. _Run along_. So he did – retrieving the mop and a bucket on the way out.

When the room had cleared of undesirable ears, Alphonse spoke. "We had an agreement."

"We still do," James spoke weakly. His head pounded and his stomach twisted in knots. The Fixer was already hard at work, removing the numb euphoria that his whiskey provided.

"So you keep assuring me…yet, here you are, at peace with the floor. While my wife lays in bed, having difficulties breathing…let alone moving."

"I'm doing everything I can," again, James spoke quietly.

The truth was, she was beyond help. James knew it – he just couldn't say anything. If Alphonse knew his wife's condition, that she was untreatable…he'd cast James, _and his son_, back out into the wastes without hesitation. So James kept up the façade. He kept her comfortable, all the while pretending to be attempting to save her life.

What was more heartbreaking was that she knew it. He could see it in her eyes every morning – every night. She looked at him with such sorrow: begging for a release. His instincts were to give her just that – euthanize her and be done with it. But he couldn't – he had to keep her alive long enough to give Alphonse the illusion that he had done all he could.

Her symptoms were plain for anyone to see – frequent lung infections; coughing and shortness of breath; bowel obstruction; sinus inflammation…

It hadn't taken him long to diagnose Mrs. Almodovar with Cystic Fibrosis – a chronic illness affecting mainly the digestive and respiratory tracts. The degenerative disease had begun to take a heavy toll on her in her early thirties. If the vault doctor had been an actual doctor instead of a goddamn modified Mr. Handy, the outlook might not have been so dire. A diagnosis of Cystic Fibrosis in the twentieth century had been a death sentence. With autodocs and the advancements of the twenty-first century, all that had changed. Unfortunately, Vault 101 hadn't been equipped with any autodocs. And, bar one that he had seen once at the citadel many years ago, he hadn't seen any throughout his travels in the capital wasteland.

James had never seen Cystic Fibrosis in person. He had read about it – heard second and third hand tales. But he'd never seen the disease. Neither had the vault. James suspected this was due to the fact that only a small percentage of the population carried the genetic affliction. Two hundred years in that vault and no one had ever been diagnosed with it – ever developed it.

Mrs. Almodovar had a difficult childhood – filled with chronic infections, clotting difficulties…but life in the vault was easy. And these problems the Mr. Handy could handle relatively well. It never looked beyond the surface.

It didn't understand.

Alphonse blamed her condition on a contracted illness – something carried in by the scavengers that had left the vault all those years ago. James, at first, had been inclined to agree with him. He had ruled out a good deal of other conditions – severe asthma, lung cancer, edema…to name a few. For the most part, he explored other options out of desperation. Ruling them out one by one in the hopes that he would stumble upon something less grim.

But life wasn't a fairytale…and it was all too often grim.

So – he kept her comfortable. In a medically induced state of euphoria. Pumped full of Med-X, Buffout, and a steady supply of stimpacks. More than the vault could afford, really.

But her end was near. Of that much he was certain.

James wasn't sure how much he had missed when Alphonse gripped the collar of his vault jumpsuit.

"…are you even listening to me? I let you in because you promised me you could help her. You had better make good on that promise…or I swear to you now, you'll find yourself back out in the wastes fending off raiders and God knows what else."

James sighed. "I'll do everything I can, Alphonse. I'm trying. I really am."

Alphonse released the collar of his jumpsuit and sighed. "Try _harder_."

She died a little over a year later. She held on long enough to see her daughter turn two – a daughter that, in all reality, she probably never should have been able to have.

She held on long enough to give Alphonse the assurance he needed that James was trying.

And that was that – James and little Albert were residents of Vault 101.

* * *

Thirteen found himself fast asleep – visions of the past pulsing through his mind.

He was ten years old again.

It felt like such a long time ago now.

"Surprise!"

It was impossibly bright – his eyes adjusted slowly. It was…

It was his birthday.

Everyone was there. Well, everyone that mattered.

"Happy birthday!" – "Happy birthday!"

The residents of Vault 101 chimed in one after another.

"Can you believe it?" One of them whispered. "He's growing up so fast!"

"They all are!" Another voice answered. "Pretty soon, they'll have children of their own to contend with!"

Laughter.

"I'm so proud of you son!" His father chimed.

_I'm dreaming_. He realized. Nineteen years on this planet and not once had his father ever said those words.

And then, _her_. "Happy birthday!" Amata practically sang. "We really surprised you huh?"

He didn't answer. Everything seemed so…surreal. So clear. As if it were all happening right there in front of him, in the present.

"…your dad was afraid you were on to us, but I told him not to worry about it. You're so easy to fool!"

She was so proud of herself…Thirteen didn't have the heart to tell her that he had known about the _surprise_ birthday party for weeks.

"Can you guess what I got you?"

Amata smiled from ear to ear…_oh, that smile_.

"Go on, guess!" She exclaimed.

He didn't need to guess. He knew. He always knew.

"Umm…." Thirteen lied. "A date with Christine Kendall?"

Amata's face fell flat. "Eww….no. I got you this!" She swiftly pulled her hands from behind her back and held the comic out before her for Thirteen to see. Grognak the Barbarian, Issue #14.

The comic was in near pristine condition – the pages were barely even worn. A thin plastic case separated it from the outside world. A vault of its own.

His tenth birthday party was not one of particular note – despite the fact that in the vault it marked a "new era" of responsibility. At ten, the vault residents took on new roles and new responsibilities. They began to train in different areas – prepping themselves for their future duties.

The idea behind the training was to give them samples of responsibilities. They would try a hand in water purification, engineering and maintenance, food preparation, human resources and healthcare, and even more mundane or aesthetic positions – like the hair dressers. This was all preparation for graduation and that final exam that was always on the tip of everyone's tongue. The GOAT – Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test.

Everyone in the vault – with the exception of his father – saw this as _the_ be all, end all examination to determine one's fate in their underground world.

His father, in drunken clarity, often spoke of standardized testing with blatant dissatisfaction. "Standardized tests don't value creativity!"; "They ignore diversity!"; "They're full of biases!"

Thirteen wasn't sure about all of that – but he admired his father's passion. Though, to be honest, at ten, he didn't really much expect or care what position he'd end up with. He often felt like – regardless of what position he'd be awarded – there was more out there to this world. More to see – to explore. To do.

He awoke with a shutter. He checked his pipboy – 5:57 a.m. He always seemed to wake up just before his alarm.

He sat up in his bed and stretched…time to start the daily routine.

His father had already long departed from their quarters. He spent most of his time in his office – observing patient records and reading old documents.

Today was the big day – the day he'd take the GOAT. Thirteen felt a wave of excitement and trepidation creep over him. He imagined that he'd follow in the footsteps of his father, or maybe find himself sitting in the Overseer's chair in his distant future.

But part of him knew what how he'd score. What he'd get. He had always been a problem solver – he had always been one that people came to, to discuss their fears, troubles, and tribulations. He could see himself in a therapeutic setting.

After a short shower, he slipped on his vault suit and headed to the clinic. It was custom for him to stop to see his father before class. A ritual that had started when he was very young – and a habit that he had never quite broken.

He found his father in the vault Clinic – sitting in his office, lightly tapping the Vault Boy bobblehead on his desk.

"You have a GOAT today, don't you?" James asked the question, but didn't seem particularly interested. "I can write you a note, if you'd like. I'm sure Brotch will fill it out for you. He knows as well as I do that they're irrelevant."

"I think I can handle it."

Of that, James had no doubt. Thirteen was, in spite of his affliction, one of the brightest in the vault. Speaking of affliction…

James rummaged through his drawer; he withdrew a yellow-orange bottle with a white cap labeled "clozapine".

"Your medication," James said flatly – tossing the bottle to Thirteen. "It's a six month supply, this time."

Thirteen sighed. He didn't like his medication – though he'd long ago accepted it as a necessary evil. "Why a six month supply?" He asked.

"Because we've been using it month to month now for years. I think it's safe to say that this medication has had the least severe side-effects and the greatest success in treating your condition."

_Condition_. Thirteen frowned.

"You'll be fine," With a sigh, his father adopted a reassuring tone. He knew that Thirteen hated that word. He hated that he was different. He didn't understand his condition – not fully. Hell, honestly – not even James understood it fully. "You sure you don't want a note?"

Thirteen shook his head. "You had to take it. Mom had to take it. Sure…" Thirteen shrugged. "It's bullshit. But that's the way it is. So – enough stalling, right?"

His father found a smile on his face. "That's right…Go on now, you have a GOAT to take."

As Thirteen exited his father's office, Jonas was making his way into the room – Thirteen had always liked Jonas. Jonas was intelligent and kind. He was, honestly, one of the few people – save Amata – that talked to Thirteen like he was a normal person.

Normal…

"Hey champ. Come to see your pops before the GOAT?"

"Yeah, thought I'd stop by and check in on him."

Jonas smiled. "Don't worry about the GOAT – everyone has to take it, and most get through it unscathed. You'll do great. I expect I'll be training you soon."

Thirteen smiled and Jonas gave him a brief pat on the arm.

"Amata's waiting for you in the hall. Don't keep her waiting, yeah?" He winked at Thirteen and shut the door to the office. "Dr. H – I've got the results on that test…"

Thirteen almost wanted to stay and listen – but he found his mind wandering to Amata. He casually made his way towards the clinic door…that's when he heard them.

"C'mon Amata…let me show you a real Tunnel Snake."

The Tunnel Snakes – Thirteen rolled his eyes. Could they have picked a name any more childish? The name was chalk full of sexual innuendo. Which was funny – considering Butch had never so much as even kissed. Oh, he talked a big game to his gang – a band of ragtag hooligans that buckled to his every whim. But Thirteen could see the lies written all over his face – plain as day.

"Jesus, Butch. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"What's a'mata," Butch laughed. "Daddy's girl going to cry?"

"Leave her alone, Butch."

Thirteen's voice was flat – Butch leveled his eyes on him. "The fuck did you say to me freak?"

"I said leave her alone."

"Oh, tough guy…why don't you make like a monkey and beat it. I don't have time for your fancy talk right now."

"I'm not going to ask you again."

Thirteen definitely didn't consider himself to be a tough guy…but something he had learned in his years in dealing with Butch is that Butch was more talk than action. Thirteen could remember spitting in a cupcake at his birthday party and tossing it to Butch. He talked a lot, but he didn't _do_ anything.

"You keep talkin' like that…and we'll send you back to your daddy with a few broken bones," Butch promised.

A lie – Thirteen could see it written all over his face…but Wally Mack, on the other hand.

Thirteen felt the presence behind him. Wally Mack was a brute…and not just a brute. He was smart too. As smart as – or potentially smarter than – Thirteen.

But…he was predictable; and right now, he was about to swing that baseball bat he liked to tote around towards Thirteen's back. And, judging from Amata's face…he was winding up.

Thirteen timed it perfectly – sidestepping at the last moment. The bat met it's mark in Butch's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Wally immediately dropped it.

"Oh shit! Butch!"

"God damnit," Butch was doubled over, holding his gut – struggling to breath. "What the fuck Wally? Get him!"

Wally and Butch's other crony, a fickle kid by the name of Paul immediately grabbed hold of Thirteen from either side.

"You're going to get it now, you punk a…"

"Is there a problem here?"

Butch looked towards the voice – Mr. Brotch.

"No…no," Butch turned back towards Thirteen. He reached out one hand and straightened Thirteen's collar and gently dusted off his vault soon. "We're just helping spruce Einstein up a little, is all."

"How considerate…you're all right on time for the GOAT…please, come in and take a seat."

* * *

**_My internship and classes are getting ready to start, but I'm going to try to work on this more. I don't know how often I'll be able to pour chapters out - but I'm going to go for at least a couple a month (for each story). I have a chapter for A Courier's Tale almost complete - you can expect it to be published before the weekend is out._**

**_As always, if you find any errors let me know. A few times I caught myself almost accidentally calling Thirteen "Six". Yikes. Be sure to point out any typos or errors you find and leave me some reviews. Encouragement and feedback (even constructive criticism) always motivates me to work faster - true story. Also - leave predictions for Thirteen's ailments. Bonus points if you don't google the medication he's taking. Until next time._**


End file.
